The Vengeance Game
by shakespeare-lozza
Summary: ONESHOT - Draco Malfoy has finally planned the perfect prank to one-up Hermione Granger, however it still remains to be seen who will reign supreme in this seemingly never-ending game of vengeance... -shakespeare quote challenge-


**The Vengeance game**

"_though this be madness, there is method in it" challenge._

disclaimer - nothing is mine, no matter how much i wish otherwise.

* * *

This was to be the three hundredth and thirty seventh prank he'd pulled on Hermione Granger.

And hell if it wasn't going to be his best work up til now.

He'd spent two weeks planning for this moment. Calculating out every little probability of failure and eliminating it with the quick rewording of a spell or a slight change in the angle at which he flicked his wand, often by less than a quarter of a degree. There was no room for error. But after all the effort he'd put into making this the messiah of all pranks, he was hardly going to go and ruin everything by stuffing it up.

Sure, it had been potentially one of the biggest wastes of his life, all this plotting for a few seconds of hilarity.

But the look on her face as the axe fell would make every little instant of time spent worthwhile.

… the second she turned around to see who the perpetrator was, only to be met by his look of triumph…

Draco smirked to himself as he hid behind the nearest pillar outside the library, his wand outstretched in absolute readiness. He had checked her timetable and was sure she'd be outside in just a few minutes, she had a certain gait which would separate her from the rest of those Gryffindors, Draco would recognise those footfalls from a mile away. So focused, full of purpose.

Thankfully different from any of those other Gryffindors that would share this free period with her in the library, he didn't want to waste this prank on just anybody. This plan was nothing less than pure gold, and who better to use it on that the golden girl of the trio?

In less than a few moments, everyone who happened to be wandering past the library –along with all those people he had told to come to this very spot, to see the biggest unexpected, spectacle known to Hogwarts- would join the ranks of the privileged, those who witnessed the instant when Malfoy finally one-upped Granger. And what an unforgettable masterpiece it would be.

Sure, it would have been fun to get Potty and Weasel, but nothing could compare to that fiery look in Granger's eyes when someone rubbed her the wrong way.

Perhaps it was for that reason that this was the three hundredth and thirty seventh prank he'd pulled on her, alone. To see that look again, that same one that had plastered her features when she'd landed him a facer back in third year. He'd remembered with a stunning clarity as he nursed his badly damaged nose, that look of complete self-righteousness that had overwhelmed her.

He'd found it hilarious.

Mudblood's had no right to be self-righteous.

And besides, it was pay back time. If Granger wanted to play with fire, she had to be ready to join the vengeance game. Even over three hundred pranks couldn't amass enough humiliation to cover 

what she had done to him all those years ago, and even if it was childish, he didn't give a damn. He was going to finally get her if it was the last thing he did.

And with that, Malfoy snapped himself out of his reverie, turning his mind back to the task at hand.

He could hardly contain his glee, in just a few seconds…

* * *

It was finished!

Thank God for small miracles.

This had to be the best day of Hermione's life. Someone up there had finally seen to give her a break, the universal cosmos must have been aligned or something, because everything was going right. It just had to be something mystical, because even her potions paper had seen her get a good mark.

Either the cogs of the galaxy had just stopped, or Professor Snape had finally gotten that broomstick up his arse surgically removed.

Hermione giggled to herself, only in her mind could she have a go at Snape, she certainly wasn't going to go out of her way to say anything out loud, only to be overheard like Ron always was, and placed in detention cleaning seedily stained cauldrons.

Hermione pushed the thought from her mind as she swirled the small vial of liquid that gleamed with a tinge of purple. After weeks of hard work and research, she had finally managed to enhance the properties of verisatum. It's strength and concentration would not only cause the potion to work for longer, but promote better results, with the addition of violet essence heightening one's memory, unlocking many deeper, unconscious truths that the previous concoction had failed to reach. If this didn't do wonders for her grade average, she didn't know what would.

Mere seconds ago she had tasted the brew herself, only to find the dual euphoria and clarity that came with it not only stimulating but far more attractive than the rather dodgy side effects one could be overcome by with the old mixture in the event of overdose, which was incredibly easy to do.

The taste of violets still pervaded her senses as she paced quietly out of the library, only to faintly notice the strangely large gathering of people that had culminated out the front. She paused for a second in contemplation.

One second too many.

She didn't even see the sparks that suddenly erupted in the air above her.

* * *

Malfoy could have leapt out of his skin as the potion appeared above her head, just as planned, only to wash over her like a rain shower, soaking her to the bone. He'd spent ages getting that potion to work properly, even going as far as getting Crabbe and Goyle to stand there in silence as he tested it on them.

Hey, every good scientist needs lab rats and none come more willing that those two. Well, that was a lie, there was Pansy, but she was a bit iffy about her face, and he didn't want to put up with her whinging after her make-up got smeared.

Hermione's face started to blister, going splotchy and red.

Malfoy moved out from his hiding place as he was met by a wave of Slytherin cheers, along with a few murmurs from randoms from the other houses who happened to be passing by.

He overheard a few overt comments, one slack-jawed senior from Hufflepuff looking onto the scene with a decidedly bored expression, "do those Slytherins ever manage to do anything original?"

"I know what you mean!"

"Ah, its just a game to them!"

"It's pretty sick if you ask me."

Malfoy pushed the voices from his mind, instead revelling in his Slytherin born adulation.

Master's always had their critics.

As he finally grew tired of the applause, he turned only to see Granger sitting upright in the puddle on the floor, her back ramrod straight. She was using her wand to alleviate the reddish sores that covered her body. With a quietly muttered spell they disappeared, Malfoy's brow furrowed in annoyance, he'd spent ages to try and make sure she couldn't get rid of the welts, perfecting his potion.

Oh well, close enough was good enough.

Success had come in her humiliation.

And yet, she hardly looked perturbed at all, acting as if such a thing was a common occurrence, which technically it was if one was to be entirely honest. As she got up from the floor, she turned, with not even the slightest look of surprise as she spied him standing metres from her dishevelled form.

In fact, her eyes suddenly looked calculating. It was a scary look upon Granger's face, and immediately Malfoy felt defensive. He even backed away somewhat when she simply walked over to stand in front of him. He felt himself staring warily at her, and somewhere in the back of his mind, he could hear the crowd grow silent, as if in anticipation of a confrontation.

He took the opportunity that she seemed to hand him on a silver platter, "Granger, what a pleasant surprise," he crowed snidely, "I don't know why you bothered removing the lumps from your face. In 

fact, I rather thought them to be an improvement, what with your dirty mud blood face looking the way it usually does, you'll be lucky if you can even get Weasel to look your way."

However all she did was stand there, silent.

That is, until her eyes darted to the small bottle that she clasped protectively in her fist, and then back up to his face. Her eyes widened as if in recognition of something she hadn't realised before, and she cocked her head to one side, looking up at him as if in wonder.

Then suddenly the impossible happened.

Granger stood up on her toes, her lips grazing his.

Not a kiss.

Just a fleeting brush of skin.

But Malfoy couldn't have been more shocked.

Not even if the Dark Lord had suddenly appeared and asked if he'd wanted to come back for crumpets and tea.

He unconsciously felt his tongue lick his lips.

There was a collective gasp from their captive audience, as Granger murmured almost in awe, "You know what Malfoy?"

His mouth hung slightly ajar as she spoke. He could have been suffering post traumatic stress should anyone have speculated.

She continued, "I've never quite gotten why you always give me so much of your bullshit, spending what appears to be every waking hour torturing my very existence… but I think I get it now."

A strange scent of violets seemed to permeate his senses.

Granger looked at him almost in pity, "In your weird, sadistic way, I think… you like me." In her mind, everything seemed to be clicking into place, the past three hundred and thirty seven pranks suddenly making sense, "You… actually… like me, don't you?" She seemed almost horrified, more terror racing across her face than any prank he had ever managed to enact.

It was funny how one little word, an answer made without volition, could prove without a doubt how easily a prank could crash and burn.

And for weeks afterwards, people would talk about how Malfoy had admitted the unthinkable, the Slytherins called him a blood traitor (Pansy, in particular – as rumour had it- had suffered several consecutive heart attacks when she'd heard Malfoy's response), and everyone else just called him terminally insane. However one thing that everyone agreed on, was that Draco Malfoy was a man of his word, he had promised that something unforgettably unexpected would happen in that moment outside the library.

And hell if he hadn't made good on his promise.


End file.
